Harry Potter and the Past Connection
by ice-woman
Summary: This is all about Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts.


Summary: This is my version of Book 5.  I'm not sure which perspective I'm going to write from yet, so we'll see.

Disclaimer: All characters and other materials from Harry Potter belong to the mind of the brilliant J.K. Rowling and not myself.  The only characters that are mine are, Marit and her family.

Feedback: Yes, please!  Good or bad!  Anything is always appreciated!

The large room was quiet and still.  The fireplace was blazing, creating a warmth and hospitality throughout the room.  A tray of decorative cookies sat on a coffee table, three glasses of milk nearby.  A plump tabby cat lay purring contently on a plush crimson armchair.  The large windows were open, sheer, silk curtains blowing quietly in the wind.  The faint call of an owl echoed in the distance.

            A loud, cheerful scream ricocheted through the room, disturbing its peaceful setting.  A second later, a slender girl about fifteen years old came running through clasping a silvery cloth.  A small woman in her mid forties followed, with a toddler nestled in her strong arms.  The teenager stood in front of the brick fireplace and threw the cloak over herself, her entire body engulfed by its size.  She shouted with glee as she blended in with the fireplace, eventually becoming completely invisible.  

            "Marit!  Marit!  Come out right now!  You're getting Katy all worked up!" the woman yelled.

            "Sorry mama!" Marit exclaimed, appearing a second later on the lush white leather sofa a moment later.  "I still can't believe you're letting me have this!  Was it really father's?" she asked curiously.

            Her mother nodded, strands of curly, auburn hair escaping from her loose bun.  Her figure was small and rounded, but she held her head high with a certain aristocracy brought on by generations of good breeding flowing through her blood.  Her eyes were slanted just slightly, a crystal blue that could either pierce through you coldly or soften your heart with one look.  Her skin was fair and flawless, white as the sandy French beaches.  Though her clothing was dull and numerous shades of gray, a certain brightness surrounded her body, ending with the faint red glow of her soft cheeks.  

            Her daughter Katarina, Katy for short, held most of her mother's stunning features.  Though only four, she was beautiful and proud.  She put on an air of conceitedness, often thinking herself the best in everything she did.  People everywhere held a secret envy of her and went far and wide out of their way in order to please her.  At the ripe age of four, Katy was already controlling people's hearts and minds.  

            Marit was fifteen although it seemed she was a thirty five year old trapped inside a fifteen year old body.  She was far wiser than her fifteen years, and often let this knowledge show.  She was stubborn and strong, although quiet for the most part.  Marit had qualities of her mother and father meshed into her, both spirits running through her blood.  She had dark brown hair with soft curls which often annoyed her, never looking quite right.  Her skin was fair and pale, but never pasty looking.  Her body was slender and lovely, with slight but perfect curves.  Her lips were a brilliant red and often captivated the attention of others, usually when she was arguing with or persuading them.  But the most remarkable feature of all on Marit was her eyes.  They were a brilliant shade of green, an amazing color which blended well with the rest of her face.  When she was angry, her eyes would slant just so slightly and cast upon you their evil curse.  But when she was happy, oh how her eyes would glow with all the passion the color green has to offer!  All of her features combined, she looked rather feline and mythical, and could often be found with a knowing, elfish grin upon her face.

            The gloomy grandfather clock in the living room chimed nine and Marit saw all the color in her mother's face drained.

            "No!"  Her mother's plea was softer than a whisper.  "Not now!  Not tonight!  Please, no!"

            Marit studied her mother closely, scared of what was happening to her.  

            "Marit!" she yelled as if unable to see her.  "Take your father's cloak!  Get out of this house!  Go the secret way!  Run!  Now!" she ordered.

            Marit, always one of sense and logically, naturally protested.  

            "Marit, don't argue with me!  Just run!  Go now!"  The glint in her mother's eyes frightened her to death, and Marie took off the cloak clinging to every inch of her body.  She ran wildly through the kitchen and pulled herself under a loose floorboard.  She made her way through the narrow dirt tunnel as hastily as possible, to scared to think straight.

            Her mother had built this secret passageway years ago, right after Marit's father died.  Marit was only one at the time.  She was never told the reason for the underground tunnel being built, but was instructed to use it as much as possible.  It bothered her a lot they way her mother always hid her like this.  It was as if she was ashamed of her.  

            But with Katy it was different.  Mama wasn't ashamed of Katy.  Katy was the family's pride and joy.  Katy's father had died a year ago, and be it evil to think like this, but Marit was certainly glad of his passing.  He had terrorized her ever since he entered her family, when Marit was eight.  He was an evil man.  Marit knew it.  That was the reason for Katy's evil nature.  He was evil and he had turned mama and Katy evil too.  She was the only one who hadn't allowed him to overpower her, which was why she was the only one who escaped his curse.

            Marit heard a loud boom that caused her to gasp.  Her mother's scream filled the air.  Katy was crying loudly, shrieking and wailing.  Marit had half a mind to turn back, but she was unable to move her legs in that direction.  Something kept pulling her further and further through the tunnel, until eventually she came to a small round door.  She mustered up all of her strength and pushed on the door.  It wouldn't budge.  Marit sighed.  What was she to do now?

            Then it hit her.  For someone so smart, she could lose all of her common sense in a second!  She reached into the pocket of her tight jeans and pulled out a thin, long silver wand.  

            "Alohomora!" she shouted, blasting the door straight off its hinges.  She ran through the opening, just off the side of a hill a mile from her house.  

She fixed the door carefully and then ran another mile to the home of Jonathon Bennett, her father's brother.  She had been forbidden to ever call him uncle.  Her mother despised him for reasons unknown to Marit, and never allowed him to see the girls.  But Marit had been sneaking out to see him nearly ever night since she turned twelve.  He was the one who taught her first about magic.  He was the one who told her that she was a witch, a powerful one at that with her father's blood raging through her.  Her mother had also been a witch, but was Muggle born, and shortly after Marit's father's death, her mother has abandoned all magical use and covered up the secret from Marit.  The only magical item in the house was the cloak that Marit was wearing, and she had been told that the invisible effect was all an illusion.  But Jonathon had taught her everything about magic.  Marit studied vigorously under him, eager to learn all she could about her mysterious past.

"Uncle Jon, Uncle Jon!" she called in her heavy French accent.  "Open up please!  It's Marit!"

The door immediately flew open and Marit rushed into the small cottage filled to its capacity with old junk that her uncle believed to be treasures.  The door shut on its own a moment later and Marit raced into the kitchen of her Uncle Jon.  It was here, upon the rug in front of the fireplace that she and her uncle talked.  She quickly explained everything that had just happened.  

"Wait," her uncle interrupted.  "What night is it?"

"It's August!" she shouted.  "The 21st!"

"The night before your sixteenth birthday," he said, nodding solemnly in silent understanding.

            "What?" she asked.  "What is it?"

            Her uncle stood up, straightening his cloak and then proceeded to tell the story.

            "Your father, Marcus Bennett was the most powerful good wizard in this country.  Right after you were born, your family moved to London, England.  Your father hoped for you to go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and study under the most famous wizard, Albus Dumbledore.  But when you were not yet even one, something tragic happened.  Lord Voldemort…remember studying him?"

            "Yes," Marit answered, urging him to continue.

            "Well, Lord Voldemort was rising to power quickly.  Those were very dark times indeed, Marit.  We here in Frances didn't have as much to fear as those in England.  Well, your father was on a secret committee that only myself, Albus Dumbledore, Lord Voldemort, and a close friend of your father's, James Potter knew about.  The committee was made up only of only your father, Albus Dumbledore, and James Potter, and they were working hard to defeat Voldemort.  But somehow Voldemort found out about your committee and vowed to kill all who were involved.  He went after your father first, when he was working late in his office.  Your mother was there, visiting him, and you were with her.  Your mother left to go home early and your father insisted upon leaving you with him.  You were the apple of his eye Marit, and he rarely saw you at all.  That was when Lord Voldemort broke into the room."

            "Wh…what happened?" Marit asked, terrified.

            "Your father tried to fight Lord Voldemort, tried to at least find a chance to run.  But everyone knows that after Lord Voldemort chose a victim, they never survived.  Voldemort killed your father and then saw you, lying unattended on the floor.  Nobody knows what happened, but somehow you survived and it was rumored that Voldemort walked out of the office perfectly normal.  Know one knows what Voldemort did to you, but he must have done something, for Voldemort never walked away from a battle."

            "Maybe he didn't hurt me because I was a baby," Marit suggested.  She really had no idea why Voldemort would come after her.  This whole story was so confusing and baffling.  She could hardly believe that any of this had happened to her!

            "No, that's not it.  He's killed hundreds of babies before without so much as flinching.  He was pure evil Marit."

            "Was?" Marit asked.  "What happened to him."

            "You remember the tale of Harry Potter right?"

            "Oh yes!" Marit said, now recalling the story.  "So Voldemort really died?"

            "No one really knows," her Uncle Jonathon replied.  "But James Potter, the one on the committee with your father, he was Harry's father."

            "And he was killed too…along with his mother," Marit replied, remembering reading about Harry Potter.  "That must be so terrible, to lose both of your parents that way."

            "You're a lot like him you know," her uncle began.

            "No," Marit shook her head.  "Both of his parents were murdered by Lord Voldemort.  My mother escaped.  He defeated Lord Voldemort.  No one knows what happened between him and I.  We're not all that similar."

            Her uncle smiled.  "There's more."

            Marit perked her ears up eagerly.  

            "The night you and your mother fled the country, a letter was sent by owl to your house.  It was from Voldemort.  Your mother refused to open it, but you clutched it in your little hands and played with it until it opened.  Your mother tried to stop you but it was too late.  A spark emerged from the letter and shot into your eyes.  That's when they turned from green to purple."

            Marit gasped.  Her eyes did often turn from green to purple.  Whenever she was really angry they would slowly change shades until they were a bright, passionate violet.  She never understood why.  

            Her uncle continued.  "The letter said that Lord Voldemort would come for you on the night before your sixteenth birthday.  Your mother panicked.  She fled back to France and vowed to erase all magic from your lives, in the hope that Voldemort would never find you.  Apparently, she was wrong."

            "Lord…Lord Voldemort has returned?" Marit asked, her eyes growing wide.  Her uncle nodded slowly.  Marit didn't understand why, but a strong sense of fear crept through her and her knees buckled.  She fell to the ground in a heep.

            "Come now," he uncle said, pulling her to her feet.  "We must leave at once for London.  Dumbledore will be expecting you."

            Miles away, in another country, in another day, Harry Potter shot up like a bullet from his bed.  He looked around the room confused.  His vision was blurred and he reached for his glasses on the coffee table.  He had a terrible dream about a girl.  Her name…what was it?  Marie maybe?  Mary?  He couldn't remember.  

            He looked around the room, forgetting where he was for an instant, until he saw Ron's familiar red hair next to him.  He was at Hermione's house in the guest bedroom.  He relaxed, sinking back under the covers, trying to ease the aching feeling the dream had left him with.  

            As he closed his eyes, one last picture of the girl filled his mind.  He couldn't help but feel a strange connection to her…

(So what did you guys think?  Is it any good?  Let me know!  Oh, the Harry scenes are now coming up.  This chapter mainly dealt with Marit which was a dream of Harry's.  You'll find more out about her later.)


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